RAYA
Standing in the middle of their supposed living room gave me major déjà vu. Mom had claimed that the new ‘apartment’ was some serious upgrade from the nasty environment of the motel, and she couldn’t be more wrong. I remembered kicking at debris on my way here; and the low ceilings were a gritty remnant of what used to be white paint, now greasy and peeling. Perhaps what she meant was that it was more spacious than the motel; that I would give it credit for.
I looked away from the ceilings to my father where he sat on one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, and although his expression was slightly masked, I could see his pleasure. He was happy to see me. I broke into a tiny smile, ignoring the observations and walked over to the end of the square living room where he sat on
